


Avoidance

by GalahadWilder



Series: Moving Forward [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Abuse, Adrien moves out, Angst, Aspik - Freeform, Child Abuse, Desperada, F/M, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Good Dad Gorilla, PTSD, PTSD flashbacks, Post Desperada, Post Reveal, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Pre Relationship, post reveal pre relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 11:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadWilder/pseuds/GalahadWilder
Summary: When Adrien ends up in the hospital following the events of Desperada, his father only comes to visit him once.Marinette—and the police—are having none of that.





	Avoidance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fanficaddict1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficaddict1/gifts), [Maggi8noodlesalfredo2lasagne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggi8noodlesalfredo2lasagne/gifts), [YourPasswordIsInvalid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPasswordIsInvalid/gifts).

In his dreams, he never left.

The cycle of Power-Fail-Yellow-Scream is burned into his psyche; in every one of his nightmares, he loses her, reboots the cycle, and loses her again. There’s nothing he can do. Escaping it is impossible. The hospital is a fever dream, a lost hope, something he imagined once when he was too close to giving up. He reaches for her and loses her all over again.

He wakes up in the hospital bed shivering, trying to curl in on himself with useless muscles, as Plagg chows down on a black butterfly on his bedside table. His head flops sideways to look at his Kwami, and he wants to thank him, but it’s all he can do not to burst into tears.

Plagg swallows and sticks out his tongue. “Cry if you need to, Kid, I’m not gonna judge,” he says, his voice sounding deeper—older—than it ever has before, and Adrien can feel the tiniest fraction of the weight of 14 billion years, of over five hundred Cats Noir loved and lost.

Adrien’s breath escapes him in wracking sobs, and he can’t even raise his arm to wipe his own eyes. Plagg has to do it for him.

* * *

Marinette asked the doctors to move his ID tag to his other wrist after she saw how he kept trying to reach for it. Such a small thing, such a Ladybug thing, to care about. They did. They didn’t ask why. He’s grateful for that.

The nurse in the morning turns on the radio, and he hears the first few chords of “Rock Giant,” and his heart freezes inside his ribs. Jagged Stone. Vivica. Desperada. The trumpet. Losing Ladybug, again and again and again and again—

He jams on the “call nurse” button as hard as his weakened thumb will let him, trying to regulate his breathing. He hears a _ding_ at the nurse’s station.

“Is everything all right, Monsieur Agreste?” the nurse asks him.

“Can you... change the station?” he says, shivering. “I got caught up in the attack yesterday...” His throat seizes up. He... he can’t, he can’t say anything else. Can’t even speak.

Her eyes go soft. “Say no more,” she says, and retreats out of the room. The radio buzzes briefly, Jagged Stone’s rough English baritone replaced by the leaping Spanish of Julieta Venegas, and Adrien tries to calm his racing heart. That was far less painful of an interaction than he was expecting.

“_Yo te quiero con limón y sal, yo te quiero tal y como estás..._”

Marinette. Where—where is Marinette? Oh, god, he’s supposed to be protecting her, if anything happens to her while he’s stuck in the hospital—

“Relax,” Plagg whispers in his ear. “Pigtails is fine. Tikki’ll come to us if anything happens.”

That’s not as much of a reassurance as he’d like. As having her here would be. But it’s a school day, so... so he’ll have to settle for that for now.

He closes his eyes and drifts back into fitful, nightmare-filled sleep.

“_Yo te quiero si vienes o si vas, si subes o bajes y no estás..._”

* * *

He wakes to the scent of cinnamon and yeast.

“Mm,” he groans. “Princess?”

“Oh!” she gasps. “You’re awake!” He feels the cool skin of her hand press against his own, and he tries not to flinch at the sudden sound of her scream in his mind. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he croaks. “Now that you’re here.”

She giggles. “Flatterer,” she says.

She doesn’t know it’s different this time, he supposes. That’s okay.

“I brought you some fresh cookies,” she says, “but... the doctors said you should avoid solids for a bit. So I got you one of those protein things you’re always drinking.”

He opens his eyes to see hers, downcast, and he tries to suppress a shudder. “Thank you,” he says. She did something nice for him—he doesn’t want to let her know how much he hates those things.

“Is that all right?” she says, crossing her arms over her stomach and looking away. “I can—I can get you something else if you’d like, I just—”

“Princess,” he croaks. “It’s fine.” He smiles at her as best he can. “Thank you.”

Her face warms, then falls again. “That’s your fake smile,” she says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He wants to answer, but he can’t.

* * *

Marinette comes to visit after school every day. (She asks him if he wants anyone else to come visit, but drops it after seeing the way he winces when she mentions Luka.) She brings him her class notes, get-well cards from everyone in the class, a video from Nino and Alya. Everyone’s been asking about him.

Chloé tried to visit, but mercifully she left when he asked the nurses not to let her in; he made sure to apologize, to let her know that it wasn’t her, he just wasn’t up to it. They had to call security for Lila.

It’s easier to sleep when Marinette’s there, so he mostly ends up napping during visiting hours. No matter how many times he jerks awake with yellow smoke filling his vision, all he has to do is squeeze his hand around hers, and his heart rate slows, calms.

He spends most nights awake. Texts Marinette a lot, and Nino; Alya keeps wanting to talk about Desperada, and it takes four increasingly desperate “no”s before she realizes _why_ he doesn’t want to talk about it and backs off. (She does send him the information for a group therapy place specializing in Akuma-related PTSD; apparently she’s been attending ever since Lady WiFi. He appreciates the gesture.) He doesn’t say much to Chloé, who’s usually asleep when he’s up anyway—they mostly just check in with each other in the evenings and the mornings. She’s been targeted by enough Akuma that, even with her (he suspects intentionally) suppressed empathy, she gets how he feels and, for once, doesn’t push.

Some of his other classmates drop by, leave flowers and gifts and chocolates at the nurse’s station that he can’t eat yet. So do some of his fans. So does Jagged Stone, interestingly—he seems to blame himself a little bit of what happened, even if he doesn’t know the cause. Marinette sorts through them, making sure to only keep the ones that matter to him, the ones from the people who care.

People who care.

Three days in the hospital and no word from his father.

* * *

Day four, Marinette is late. Adrien tries to drag himself out of bed after half an hour—she wouldn’t be stuck in traffic, Ladybug doesn’t have to deal with traffic—but he’s still too weak, and he collapses back onto the bed.

He hears screaming through the window, and his lungs squeeze as suddenly he knows where she is. “Plagg,” he croaks, raising his hand. “Claws—”

“No!” the Kwami hisses from under his pillow. “You’re in no condition to go out there.”

“She needs me,” Adrien says, still holding up his shaking hand.

“She needs you _alive,_” Plagg shoots back. “She needs you to _get better_.”

Adrien groans, dropping his hand. “I can’t just stay here,” he whispers.

“Sorry, kid,” Plagg says. “You have to.”

His heart monitor starts moving erratically, and it doesn’t calm down until Ladybug slams chest-first into his window, grins, and waves. She pulls out her yo-yo and types something.

Plagg zips over to Adrien’s phone. “She says the fight went fine,” he says. “She’s coming in through the front door in a few.”

* * *

“Everything go okay?” Adrien says as Marinette shoulders her way through the door.

“Sort of,” she huffs, sliding into her customary chair next to his bed and taking his hand in her own. He’s getting better at not flinching at her touch now. “Missed you.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help,” Adrien says.

She snorts. “No need to apologize,” she says. “I need you healthy first.” Her gaze softens, and she smiles, squeezing his knuckles. “Though apparently four backup heroes don’t _quite_ equal one you.”

His chest swells at the compliment. “Nice to know you think so highly of me,” he says.

“You know you’re irreplaceable.” She brings his hand to her lips, looking up at him through hooded eyes, her eyelashes fluttering dangerously.

The heartbeat monitor starts beeping much faster, and Adrien swallows. Is she... flirting with him? Ladybug has never been interested in Chat Noir—Marinette claimed to be, once, but he’s not sure how much of that was true and how much was panic—and up until Desperada Marinette’s barely been able to string a sentence together around him.

_I love you_, he wants to say, but he’s worried he may have badly misread the situation. He’s worried she’ll push him away again, and this time he won’t get her back.

“How’s your dad taking it?” she asks, gently placing his hand on top of the sheets.

“Don’t know,” Adrien says. “Haven’t heard from him.”

Marinette jerks. “W-what?”

Adrien shrugs. “Nathalie messaged me a few times to let me know that she canceled all my appointments, but that’s about it.”

Marinette’s eyes narrow, and she swallows. “Excuse me,” she says, standing on shaky legs and bolting to the bathroom.

She doesn’t manage to close the door all the way, so he can hear her gasping into the sink the way she does when she’s trying not to cry.

* * *

He’s spending his afternoon sleeping off another night of terrors when he’s rudely jerked back into consciousness by the sound of his father’s shoes on linoleum.

For a moment, he’s utterly lost—he was just standing outside the Hotel Grand Paris in snakeskin, screaming as yellow light streaked unstoppably toward Ladybug, and now he’s in a plasticky bed with Marinette’s tiny frame wrapped around his back in her best approximation of a “big” spoon. He forces his eyes open, twists his head, and there, glaring down at him disapprovingly, is his father.

The heartbeat monitor picks up.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Gabriel snarls.

Adrien says nothing as Marinette stirs.

“I understand you skipped your fencing lesson to spend time with those degenerates,” Gabriel says. “I’m not surprised you ended up in the hospital.” He crosses his arms, his eyes steely. “Knowing them, I assume drugs were involved.”

Marinette’s head snaps up, and she meets Gabriel’s eyes. The air between them grows frosty.

“Madamoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” Gabriel says, not even looking in her direction. “What are you doing in my son’s bed?”

“Keeping him company,” Marinette snaps, tightening her grip. “_Someone_ has to.”

Gabriel’s gaze bores into Adrien’s eyes, driving the breath from his lungs. “It has become apparent that you cannot be trusted with your own safety,” the man says. He shoots a glare at Marinette. “Or in choosing your company,” he snarls. He turns back to Adrien, his face twisted in anger. “I understand you called security on Signorina Rossi—she is a diplomat’s daughter, and your conduct with her is completely unacceptable.”

Adrien opens his mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a dull whistle.

Gabriel clasps his hands behind his back. “I am pulling you out of school, effective immediately,” he states, with the surety of a man who has never been denied. “And I will be taking your phone, to keep you from making further contact with such...” He looks Marinette up and down, naked disgust in his eyes. “...bad influences.”

Adrien’s intestines leap up into his throat. He can feel the bars closing in on him again, his life collapsing. Locked in the manor. Worse—he can... he can hear Ladybug screaming. He’s losing her again—he closes his eyes and all he can see is yellow, yellow smoke, yellow light. He whimpers, squeezing his Lady.

“_Shh, no, you’re okay_,” Marinette whispers. She’s glaring at his father.

“This has been quite enough wallowing, Adrien,” Gabriel says. “Stand up. We’re leaving.”

“...Yes, Father,” Adrien croaks. He—he can’t, he doesn’t have the strength, but that tone... it brooks no argument. Nothing he can say, nothing he can _do_, will stop his father when he’s like this. He reaches over to the railing of the hospital bed and attempts to push himself upright with shaking arms, his muscles _screaming_ with the effort of supporting his torso alone.

Marinette wraps her arm protectively around his shoulder. “He—” she begins, her voice shaking with hot wet rage. “He can’t even _stand_!” she screams.

Adrien collapses back into bed, shivering and whimpering, falling right into her arms. She squeezes him as she turns her burning gaze onto his father. “What the _hell is wrong with you?_”

“Madamoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” Gabriel growls. “I would advise you to stay out of what is clearly a _family_ matter... before you do something that harms your _career_.” He raises an eyebrow. “Imagine the scandal if people were to hear you were using my son for his connections.”

Adrien’s lungs seize, and it’s all he can do not to vomit. Did his father just... threaten her? Marinette? She seems as frozen as he is, her face bone-white.

“Monsieur Agreste?” comes an unfamiliar voice from the doorway to the hospital room. Adrien looks over and sees—that’s not a doctor, or a nurse, or a security guard. That’s a police officer.

“Yes?” Gabriel snaps at the gendarme. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“Forgive me, Monsieur Agreste,” the officer says, reaching into his belt and flipping open a notebook. “But were you aware that your son was admitted to the hospital exhibiting symptoms of malnutrition, dehydration, and extreme sleep deprivation?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, glaring at his son. “I was not,” he says, “but I’m hardly surprised. My son is quite irresponsible.”

“Hmm.” The officer licks his thumb, flipping the page. “And were you aware we have no record of you contacting your son any time in the last four days?” He’s not using pronouns, Adrien notices—keeps repeating _your son_. Emphasizing it, almost.

Gabriel straightens; his lower eyelid twitches once. “I am... a very busy man,” he says. “I do not have time to come running every time he does something childish and dangerous.”

Adrien is staring in awe at the police officer as he glares at his father. “Well, that’s interesting,” the gendarme says. “Because according to _your son’s_ story, you’ve repeatedly broken a number of child labor laws.”

_That_ cracks Gabriel’s stony mask. His face goes slack, and his hands drop, open, to his sides. “_What?_” he gasps.

Adrien is stunned, and by the way she stiffens against his side, so is Marinette. He’s never seen his father so powerless before, and suddenly—suddenly he realizes: there’s a chink in the man’s armor.

A really, _really_ big one.

The gendarme flips through his notebook. “Oh, certainly,” he says. “After all, persons under sixteen may not work between 8 PM and 6 AM, and as I understand it you frequently have shoots that—”

“They are always scheduled no later than 6!” Gabriel interrupts, desperation in his voice.

The gendarme nods. “But they frequently go overtime to 9 or even 10, and do so _unrecorded_, according to the employees we questioned.” He looks at Gabriel with a raised eyebrow. “You understand that is quite illegal, and likely why your son ended up in the _hospital_ for _sleep deprivation_.”

Gabriel’s face twists. “How dare you,” he hisses. “I am raising a son _by myself_ and you do _not_ get to have a say in my parenting methods!”

“Actually, Monsieur Agreste,” the officer says, flipping his notebook closed and stuffing it onto his belt, “legally, we _do_.”

Gabriel’s eyelid twitches.

“We’re going to need you to come down to the station,” the gendarme says, crossing his arms. “Will you come by choice, or do I have to make you?”

Gabriel growls.

Adrien’s heart begins to pound as he and the officer stare at each other like two predators claiming territory. He feels small between them—hoping the acceleration of the heart monitor won’t draw one of their attention. He tries to draw into himself, become small.

Marinette curls around him protectively.

Finally, Gabriel scowls. “Fine,” he says, starting towards the door. “I’ll play your game. And then I will have your badge.”

“Certainly, Monsieur Agreste,” the gendarme says, not at all intimidated.

* * *

“Oh, gods,” Marinette says once they’re both out of earshot. “I’m shaking.” She is; he can feel her skin vibrate against his, the tremor in her voice. “Do you—” She swallows. “Is this what you deal with? Every day?”

Adrien nods. He can’t bring himself to speak. Not yet.

She looks at the door. “Everything you told us—” She shivers. “Everything _Chat _told _Ladybug—_” She looks at him. “Adrien, I thought—I thought you said it wasn’t that bad!” Her eyes are wide, so, so blue, and watering. “You said—you said he was getting better!”

Adrien opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a croak. He closes his eyes as shame threads through his lungs, and nods.

“That’s _better_?” She’s whispering, trying not to shriek.

“Mm-m.” He shakes his head, holding in tears. “He’s—he cares.”

She narrows her eyes. “How?” she hisses. “How does _that_ man care?”

“Birthday present,” he croaks. “Made me... scarf. By hand.”

Marinette’s eyes widen. “Oh,” she says. “Oh—oh no. No, no, no...” She grips his hand. “Adrien... _I _made that scarf.”

The feeling that goes through his chest at that moment is a lot like when Miraculer smacked him with his own Cataclysm. He feels his innards dissolving in shock. “What?” he whispers.

“It was... it was for your birthday,” she mumbles. “Your dad stole the credit, and you—you looked so _happy..._” She trails off, sniffles, wipes her nose. “I never thought—I didn’t realize it would lead to—to _this!”_

_He doesn’t care. _Adrien blinks. _He doesn’t care_.

“H-h-he... he doesn’t c-care,” he whispers, clenching his hand around Marinette’s.

“Oh, Kitty,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

He rolls over and sobs into her shirt, as she scratches her fingers across his scalp and hums a lullaby.

The emotions all drain out of him slowly.

“Okay,” Marinette murmurs. “You’re not going home with him.”

Adrien swallows. “Where else can I go?”

Marinette is silent for a moment, then—“Live with me.”

Adrien blinks. “What?”

“Come live with me,” she says. “My parents already love you. And—and there’s plenty of room!” She lets go, backs away, shakes her head. “N-no, there isn’t,” she mutters. “Not sure why I said that.” She’s reddening, steadily, and he can’t—

“You’d really do that for me?” he says.

She looks down at him in surprise. “Of course I would,” she says. “You’re _mine_.”

He doesn’t even think about what he does next—it’s just instinct. He barely has enough strength left in his arms to do it. But the way she says it... the possessiveness, the hurt, the _love_ in her voice...

He pulls her down into a kiss, and after a moment of shock, she melts into him. They devour each other, drinking in each other’s breath.

After an eternity that is entirely too short, she rolls off him, breathless and giggling. “I’ve been wanting to—to do that for almost a year,” she says.

“Me too.” He smiles soft, then his eyes grow flinty as the Chat Noir rises within him. His father has threatened his Lady, and that _cannot_ stand. “That man is _never_ allowed to hurt you again,” he says.

“Way to go, kid!” Plagg whispers from under his pillow, and Adrien grins.

Marinette presses on his shoulder. “I’m not letting him hurt you either,” she says, her voice as strong as it was that day on the Tower, and he falls in love all over again.

“About that,” Adrien says. “That policeman gave me an idea.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow, tilting her head.

“Do you still have Penny Rolling’s number?” he says with a grin (Penny Rolling Jagged Stone Vivica Desperada _Marinette is right here._ She’s _safe_). “I’m gonna need some legal advice.”

* * *

They spend that night on the phone together, clearing up a year’s worth of missed signals and misunderstandings, laughing about how stupid, how _oblivious_, they both were. Come morning, Adrien finally feels strong enough to stand. And his father hasn’t come back.

He ignores Nathalie’s text messages. Rejects her calls.

When he’s discharged the day after that, the Gorilla is waiting for him in the limo. Adrien walks, leaning on Marinette, over to the driver’s side door and knocks on the window with a sheepish grin.

The window rolls down, and Adrien is met with the impassive face of his bodyguard. “I’m not coming home,” he says. “Can you have my clothes and my computer brought over to the Hotel Grand Paris?”

The Gorilla’s eyebrow raises, and he does something that Adrien might consider a smile.

* * *

Adrien doesn’t end up living with Marinette. Convenient as that would be for them as superheroes, they’re already dangerously dependent on each other—too much time together could drive them to ignore everything else. And besides, her parents don’t really know how to deal with celebrity.

Instead, he moves into the spare room of Jagged Stone’s suite.

Jagged had snatched the phone from Penny and _insisted_, as soon as he heard what they were discussing. The rocker is over the moon to have him—according to Penny, he had literally _jumped_ at the chance to be his surrogate father. As in, he’d forgotten to adjust for height and slammed his head into the ceiling of his hotel suite. Adrien tears up a little at that; he’s shocked to find someone who’s just so _excited_ to have him in their life. Or, at least, an adult.

Marinette holds onto his arm the whole time while Jagged introduces him to his bandmates, periodically squeezing to remind him _I’m safe, I’m here_.

He starts shaking he moment Vivica enters the room. He knows that face. He’s seen it, in every one of his nightmares—he—he—his stomach heaves, and he wants to throw up. _Gun. Ladybug. **Yellow**._

He interposes himself between her and Marinette before he’s even aware of what he’s doing. Reaches for his empty wrist.

She squeezes his shoulder.

Vivica meets his eyes, then drops hers. Swallows. “Hey, uh, kid,” she says. “I’m... I’m really sorry. About what happened. About... what I did.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Adrien whispers, trying to calm his burning nerves.

“I still did it,” she says. “If—if there’s _anything_ I can do for you, just—_name_ it. Yeah?”

He swallows. Nods. Steps forward and holds out his hand.

Marinette and Vivica both gasp.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Adrien says, just about managing to keep his hand from jittering. “Officially.”

The guitarist takes his hand in her own, in a strong, reassuring grip. “Likewise,” she says with a sheepish smile.

* * *

He settles into the bed at the Grand Paris. It’s big and comfy and a lot like his bed at the manor, with a few crucial differences: the door to this room has a lock on it.

“Gotta say,” Plagg says from the nightstand, nibbling on a chunk of Camembert, “I’m really glad we finally got out of that place.”

Adrien stares up at the ceiling, absently counting the spots of light thrown up by the chandelier. “Did I...” he starts. “Did I do the right thing? By leaving?”

Plagg stops mid-chew. (Not that it matters—the Cataclysm on his breath dissolves the cheese in his mouth anyway.) “What do you mean?” he says.

“I mean...” Adrien says. “He _is_ my dad.”

Plagg shakes his head. “That man is no father,” he says. “Sperm donor at best.” He flits up to Adrien’s face, presses himself against his cheek. “You owe him _nothing_, you understand?”

“Yeah,” Adrien whispers.

“No, _listen_ to me,” Plagg says. “That man deserves to be _burnt at the stake_ for what he’s done to you.”

Adrien’s stomach seizes. “Um...” he says. “France doesn’t do... stake-burnings anymore.”

Plagg raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he says. “Huh. Well, there goes my plan for Lila.”

Adrien’s phone dings.

> **♥️Princess♥️:** You settling in okay?
> 
> **Adrien:** Just fine! Thank you.
> 
> **Adrien: **I think I’m going to get some sleep, though.
> 
> **Adrien:** Love you.
> 
> **♥️Princess♥️: **love you too!

Adrien smiles at the text from his girlfriend (girlfriend!) and settles into bed. And for the first time since his mother vanished, he sleeps without interruption.

* * *

“You sure you can’t come back to school yet?” Chloé asks him the next morning over breakfast. “Class has been so _awful_ without you.”

Adrien smiles. “Doctors said another day or two of bed rest,” he says, spreading the Hotel’s special passionfruit jam across his toast with a butter knife. “I’ll be back on Thursday.” His teeth crunch down. “Pwomise,” he says, leaning forward to spray crumbs all over Chloé, who shrieks in laughter that he’s sure she’s going to try to pass off as disgust.

After a moment, her laughter dies down. “Are you...” she begins, not quite meeting his eyes. “When are you planning on going home?”

Adrien places his toast back on his plate. He doesn’t—he hasn’t been thinking about that. He doesn’t want to.

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not going back.”

There’s a knock at the door, and it opens to the mustachioed face of Jean the Butler. “Monsieur Agreste,” he says. “Your bodyguard is here to see you.”

* * *

Much to Adrien’s surprise, the Gorilla is driving a car he’s never seen before—it looks like a personal car. Adrien tries to help the man lug some of his things up to his room, but the man simply shakes his head, pointing to Adrien’s shivering hands, and Adrien acquiesces. Chloé rings for Jean on her way out the door to school, and between the two of them and the bellhops, they manage to bring up most of Adrien’s stuff in less than half an hour.

Adrien is surprised when the Gorilla then proceeds to not leave, instead parking himself in the suite’s kitchen and pulling out a frypan and some eggs.

“Don’t you work for my father?” Adrien asks.

The Gorilla shakes his head, reaches into his jacket, and hands Adrien a photocopied resignation letter. And then, right next to it, a bodyguard contract—one with Jagged Stone’s signature.

“Oh,” Adrien whispers, taking the contract into his hands and trying not to cry. When he left, he never expected the Gorilla to come with him.

The hulking man points at his own heart, then at Adrien.

Adrien bursts into tears.

* * *

The next day, Gabriel shows up at the hotel.

“Want me to scare him off?” Vivica asks. She and Adrien are hiding in the luggage room, watching Gabriel tap his foot impatiently as he repeatedly demands to speak to his son.

He almost says yes. If this were just about him, he would have—there’s nothing to gain for him if he faces his father now. But... Gabriel threatened Marinette. And Chat Noir needs to protect his Lady at all costs.

“No,” Adrien says. “Have to face him eventually.” He pushes open the door and walks into the lobby, fingernails digging into his palms. “You were looking for me?” he says, elbows locked to control his shaking.

“Adrien.” Gabriel scowls. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you will cease this pointless rebellion and return home at once.”

Adrien swallows, raises an eyebrow, and does not move. This is not his father’s house. This is the lobby of the Hotel Grand Paris, and there are at least five other people here. Gabriel has no power over him—not over Chat Noir.

Gabriel narrows his eyes. “I have clearly been too lenient with you,” he says. “If your things aren’t moved back to the manor by this evening—”

“You’ll _what_, Gabriel?” Adrien says. “You’ve already said you’re going to take everything from me. You don’t have any threats left to make.”

Gabriel twitches. “_What did you just say?”_

“I said no, Gabriel,” Adrien says. “I’m not coming back to that house. Not now, and not ever.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow, and he steps forward. “You ungrateful brat—”

“Witnesses,” Adrien says, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Gabriel immediately freezes, as if noticing for the first time that they aren’t alone—that everyone in the lobby is staring at them. “We will continue this conversation in private,” Gabriel hisses.

“No,” Adrien says. “We won’t.” He crosses his arms and plants his feet. Gabriel is unraveling, he can _see_ it—Adrien has so much more power over him than he’d ever believed.

Gabriel starts growling.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Adrien says, uncrossing his arms and pointing directly at his father’s face. “If you _ever_ threaten Marinette again,” he says, “I will ruin your company.”

Gabriel freezes. “What?”

“You made me the face of it. You keep telling me that I have to uphold the image. You made me famous.” Adrien grins, holding out his arms. “You gave me a platform... and _significant amounts of Gabriel stock.”_

The dawning horror on his father’s face is the greatest thing Adrien has ever seen—and that includes the moment Ladybug stood tall after Stoneheart and stole his heart from his chest.

“What happens if I destroy that perfect image you’re so obsessed with?” Chat Noir says with Adrien’s mouth. “What happens if I start shit-talking you in interviews, on my Instagram, my fanpages? What happens if I—_the son of the CEO_—suddenly _dump all my stock?_”

“You—you wouldn’t,” Gabriel says, glancing around, fear written across his face. Clearly hoping that nobody else in the lobby has heard what Adrien said. Clearly realizing that yes, they did.

Adrien crosses his arms. “You can’t stop me,” he says. Destruction is what he’s good at, after all. “Nadja Chamack owes Marinette some favors. Do you know how easy it would be to get an interview?”

Gabriel opens his mouth, but Adrien gets there first. “Fire me. I dare you,” he says. “See what happens to your stock price.”

Gabriel glares at him, and though Adrien’s pulse is crashing in his eardrums, he doesn’t break his father’s gaze.

* * *

“How’d he take it?” Marinette says, threading a needle into the seam of the dress she’s making for Alya. Chat’s heart skips a beat when he sees her tongue press against the corner of her mouth.

Chat chuckles, rocking just a bit in Marinette’s chaise. “I’ve never seen him so shocked,” he says. “Honestly I wish I could’ve taken a picture. I’d have set it as my phone background.”

She lays the orange fabric on the desk and tilts her head to look at him. “You’re such a sneaky kitty,” she says.

“The sneakiest,” he responds, kicking his legs up and spinning on his stomach so he faces her. He props his chin on his hands.

“The sneakiest,” Marinette agrees, flicking his nose.

He feels like he’s turned into a puddle.

“I—uh, I talked to Officer Mokrani today!” he stammers, trying to hide his blush. “Gabriel’s still under investigation for child labor, and they’ve...” He sighs. “They’ve apparently expanded it to abuse too.”

Marinette sighs, takes his face between her palms, squeezing his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Are you... going to be okay?”

He swallows, licks his lips. “...Eventually,” he says. “That therapy group Alya sent me is helping.” He raises his wrist. “I haven’t tried to Second Chance in days.”

Marinette smiles softly. “I’m so proud of you, My Kitty,” she says.

He feels warm. He feels safe. He feels loved.

He presses his lips to hers, and everything is right in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr.](http://www.galahadwilder.tumblr.com)


End file.
